Bad Days & Butting Heads
by agent iz hyper
Summary: It wasn't Tony's fault. Seriously, it wasn't. He'd blame it on Barton but he didn't much fancy getting an arrow shot up his ass and the archer had already threatened that (and worse). / Basically, they were trapped in underground tunnels with robotic werecats cornering them, so maybe they should stop arguing and actually do something about that. / T for slight language.


Tony was having what could accurately be described as a Bad Day.

(Yes, the capitals were necessary).

He may have taken great pleasure in pushing his team-mate's buttons initially (because, c'mon, the amusement factor once he'd gotten around the _don't bring out the Hulk_ and _don't piss off assassins who can kill you fifty ways with a phone_ problems – among others – was priceless), but he'd just about had it with those guys.

So maybe when he and Pepper had made those plans at the beginning for the Stark Tower rebuild to include rooms (floors) for the rest of the Avengers, he sort of knew what he was signing up for. (He wasn't an _idiot_, of course he knew that, he was putting a variety of superheroes and other kickass heroes-of-the-non-super kind who were all kinds of fucked up and volatile _on their own_ all into one relatively huge building). Didn't mean he'd particularly thought it through too extensively – he was _Tony Stark_, for goodness' sake, he wasn't expected to think twice before he acted.

(Some would argue they wouldn't expect him to think at all – but Tony was a billionaire genius and Iron Man and if those people had any sense of self-preservation and/or a need to keep their reputations intact then _they_ would think twice before even _thinking_ that).

And maybe when most of the team accepted his offer to stay there – eventually, anyway... after sneaky cajoling and casual mentions of the Tower's state-of-the-art facilities (the massive R&D department had been what finally managed to reel Banner in, and the custom-made workout floor was like candy-land for the more hands-on-approach-loving SHIELD agents, and honestly – if Tony Stark was anything, it was persuasive), he didn't really take into account what this meant exactly.

(He still didn't know what 'exactly' entailed, but he was getting a rough idea).

But back to the Problem – or as it were, _Problems_, at hand. If the disastrous (or at least semi-irritating) events of this morning (and yesterday morning... and the day before...) became a daily routine thing, he was seriously considering locking the rest of his team out of his bar/living room area whenever he wasn't present.

(For the last time, _no_, he wasn't miffed about missing out on seeing Rogers' face when he'd realised that Barton had spiked his drink, _or_ when-) No, he was just really getting sick of having them waste his favourite drinks in his absence Just because he was in his lab most of the day... Science waits for no man (or ninja-assassin woman, or super-soldier, or Hulk) and he really couldn't have that, now, could he?

_Then_ (after he'd sniped a Vodka from a certain SHIELD agent's hand – no, not Natasha, he really hadn't reached that level of suicidal no matter what anyone said) Fury had called in for a debriefing (very rudely ignoring Stark's cracks at how absolutely peachy he looked this morning _and was that a new eyepatch?_) and decided splitting them into pairs was the quickest way to deal with latest threat(s) breaking out over North America.

Robotic creatures, would you believe?

Tony's best Iron Man suit still needed repairs after the crazy fight against a madman with a giant mutated eel/squid thing that spurted corrosive ink only three days before. (Who ever said being a superhero wasn't a full-time job). He had to resort to the Mark V, which wasn't bad, per se, but he'd yet to upgrade some of the functions.

(Wouldn't be a problem, he'd thought. They were only robot things this time; wasn't like the adversary was a mammoth-sized destructive electrically-charged eagle – which was _not_ fun, by the way – so how bad could it _really_ get, he'd thought. Just blast the crap out of them, _piece of cake_, he'd thought.)

((No one had any right whatsoever to revoke his title as renowned genius based on those assumptions. _No one_.))

So, yes, needless to say – Tony's Bad Day was steadily growing worse. Because, turns out, it was not as simple as 'blasting the crap out of them' and Fury had had the nerve to explicitly forbid them from using anything that would set fire to their surroundings (they were in some sort of forest-y place, so that was _way _out of the question) or disrupt too much with explosions, and damn him for taking the fun out of this job.

It wasn't Tony's fault. Seriously, it _wasn't_. He'd blame it on Barton (his assigned partner for the job) but he didn't much fancy getting an arrow shot up his ass and the archer had already threatened that (and worse).

But _it wasn't, in any way, shape, or form, Tony's fault_.

The Situation? They were stuck- no, not stuck. They were (for lack of a word that didn't make this Problem so much more insulting) trapped in some underground... tunnels? with a seemingly endless gang of robo-werecats closing in on them.

The Hawk's bow was broken.

Tony's suit was playing up.

They may or may not have gotten ambushed upon their arrival – by _robotic creatures_ that appear to have _smarts_ and surrounded them.

...It's just a tiny bit of a Dilemma.

And, of course, Clint's blaming this one on him.

**-x-**

"I don't see how this is _my_ fault," Tony insists for the third time. He leans back against the tunnel wall and stares up at the hole that had unceremoniously dumped them there, with an accusing scowl as if the earth had specifically opened up and dropped them on purpose.

Clint resists the urge to smash his head against the wall. (Not by any form of good will, mind you; but it would be rather pointless to have either one of them out for the count right now... even if the rocky surface is inviting and Stark's kid-like attitude is irritating and, really now, can you blame him?). He shifts his contemplative gaze from the wall to glance at the billionaire. "Oh, I don't know, maybe if you hadn't blasted your _thrusters_ straight at the freaking _ground_..."

"I told you, they're malfunctioning," Stark shrugs. As if on cue (and Barton's not completely convinced it's _not_), his right-hand thrusters gives a sharp sudden spurt of fire before spluttering off. Tony frowns at it, then looks back at his partner with a cocked eyebrow that on another person would be a smug _'Told you so'_.

Tony isn't 'another person' and he can speak wonders through facial expressions (because he really is just amazing like that), but he stops after a second considering the fact that Barton is not appreciating his abilities even a bit. (It's off-putting. Shouldn't everyone just be in awe of his genius on principle?)

"Whatever," Clint growls, finding a jutting out rock ledge to perch on impatiently. He grimaces as the movement shifts his arm in its makeshift sling. What do you know, turns out falling twenty feet straight onto it snapped the bone clean in two. Not the worst injury he's ever had – not even close (Budapest... man, nothing compares), but it still hurts like a bitch.

Tony notices the brief expression of discomfort (because along with his many talents, he's also not too bad at reading people, and has _that_ come in handy a few times). "You alright?" he asks casually. More out of common courtesy or whatever the hell it is, because the guy's _arm_ is _broken_, of course he's not fucking alright and, as has been established quite thoroughly, Tony is a genius and thus knows this.

He also knows that Barton's shrugged "Yeah, I'm good" is a lie but there's nothing really to do about it except look sympathetic when the shrug seems to jar his arm and cause a spike of pain to shoot through it.

"I can see that," Tony remarks wryly. He shoves off the wall and is about to move off down the tunnel a bit but has to stop with a frustrated grunt when his _other_ hand thruster splutters this time, and he shakes it, muttering, "Knew I should've gotten the Mark VI instead."

(No, he so had not jinxed this job, what're you talking about).

The archer watches on in amused interest as Tony proceeds to cuss his suit but it's cut short by the unmistakable sounds coming from the tunnel ahead. Sounds like whirring and clunking and the screeches of metal-on-metal.

The two heroes exchange glances (which are not, _in any way_, panicked or nervous, because they are _badass Avengers_, dammit. They can face down a couple of... dozen... robo kitties without breaking a sweat.)

((Hypothetically speaking, but no-one knows _that_.))

"Alright – here's the plan," Clint mutters as he moves to stand beside Tony. "You play mouse, and I'll find a way out."

"What?" Tony is, understandably, indignant. "So they can rip me to shreds? No way." He glares stubbornly and might have even crossed his arms if it wasn't for the stupid suit being stupid and spouting shit out at random.

"It's your damn fault we're stuck down here anyway!" Barton shoots back, his eyes narrowing in accusation.

But Stark is not to be deterred. "Well then, I should be the one to find us a way out," he states with a smirk that takes Barton's mind to his previous thoughts about the tempting rock wall and a certain smug billionaire's face.

He huffs, annoyed, and tries to get back on track because – hello, they're being advanced on and are arguing, and what the hell was Fury thinking putting the two of them together anyway? "Fine! _I'll_ play mouse and _you_ go, then!"

But of course, now that he's let Stark win, he has to point out the obvious flaws in this so-called plan. "Barton, both your arm _and _bow are broken. You can't exactly fend these things off with one hand." Tony pauses to mull over this for a second. "If you were Romanoff, then maybe, because she is _scary_ good but you're not so I guess that's a moot point."

Clint stares at him. He glances almost pleadingly at the wall behind him. The reasonable part of his mind gets him to focus (damn it) and he promises to get at Stark later. "I see why they call you a genius, I never would've noticed if you hadn't pointed it out, thanks," he mutters. The fact that his _bow_ is _broken_ cuts a nerve so he adds it to the list of things he's going to be getting the other man back for once they're out of this shit-hole of a Situation.

"Someone's touchy."

(Add maddening sass. It's a long list. He's definitely going to have fun with that.)

"Dammit Stark, we don't have time for this!" he eventually just growls. They really don't. The werecats seem to have stopped a-ways ahead of them, still not visible thanks to the darkness shrouding the curve ahead, but they can still hear them. The sounds are not encouraging. If Clint thought that robot cats could prep for war, that's what he would assume they're doing. As it is, he shoves the matter out of his mind and returns his attention to Tony. "So unless you've got an actual helpful idea-"

"Alright, hey, what if we confuse them a bit? Enough to cause a diversion, at least." The sudden switch to reasonable and serious throws Clint for a moment, which he spends half thankful and half put-out that he doesn't get to test out the wall's usefulness.

"Finally, something that doesn't sound like a bitchy teenager," he mutters with snark. Before Tony can do more than throw him a reproachful look (and would you look at that, Pepper really wasn't exaggerating about the big brown eyes turning Tony Stark-rebel-and-badass into a giant puppy), he adds, "Keep talking," because it sounds like their adversary is on the move again and they can't be too far away now.

Tony rolls his eyes and impatiently shakes his left hand when it tries to shoot out his own foot. "Right, these things hunt best by catching and tracking our scent, their motion detectors are shocking and their heat sensors can easily be tricked – so we throw them _off_ our tails by letting them think they're cornering us. Without actually letting them do so," he adds as an afterthought, as if it isn't obvious. He looks quite smug as Clint shoots him an unimpressed yet grudgingly agreeing look. "It's the best plan we have."

The unimpressed look grows heavier. "It's our _only_ plan, dumbass."

Stark returns the look with his own one which is basically a _'don't hate me 'cause you ain't me'_ sort of look, only more on the awesome side.

Clint sighs and adjusts the strap for his arrows over his good shoulder. "Okay, fine."

Tony grins wickedly. "Let's do this."

**XX**

On the plus side (and he's really, _really_ trying to be positive here), he _does_ get to bash some heads into rocks, and the satisfying thunk and sometimes crushing that results is pretty awesome. None of the heads are _Stark's_, but if he's creative enough he can imagine it and pretend he's getting back at the guy for being the one to get them stuck in this mess.

(Screw what he says, Clint is adamant in his claims).

It was all fun just sprinting ahead and bounding nimbly from one blindspot to another and kicking down robots on the way...

Until they caught on.

Barton pauses, spread against the wall as he prepares to sprint, but then something catches his eyes and makes that pause a full on _stop_.

"Fuck this," he breathes.

Lasers. They have _lasers_ in their _tails_ and what the _hell_ is he going to do now exactly-

He has about a second to register the fact that once one has caught his scent and got its red dot pointed at him, the other seem to catch on, and by then he looks like he's got the measles or something because _fucking lasers_.

That second is over and all hell breaks loose.

**XX**

He really can't leave the guy for a second.

Tony frowns as the sounds of the few werecats who didn't take the bait and chase Barton down the other way stop down the tunnel. He puts his search for an exit on hold (it's been hopelessly futile so far and Barton's been getting all the action so why shouldn't be investigate just a little bit) and backtracks to see what's going on.

They're turning around and going back the way they came, moving faster than they had been, so of course Tony follows because what else is he supposed to do?

This brings him back to his original statement, upon catching sight of the red-marked archer standing scowling against the wall, in front of all the robots. He'd clearly _not_ managed to stay undetected and was now in quite a Predicament.

Tony sighs to himself. Case-in-point – _do not_ leave the apparently capable SHIELD agent to carry out the more intense half of _his_ plan. (Conveniently ignoring the fact that, even with a broken arm and a virtually useless weapon, the agent is just plain better suited for that part anyway). The only thing that comes out of it is said-agent being cornered by lasers (and since when did they have lasers, too? That's just not fucking fair, honestly).

He brings down his faceplate and lets the information assessing the cats dance across the screen, then mutters to JARVIS to send maximum power to his chest thrusters. A second before he blasts away, he opens the mic and calls out a quick "_Get down!"_ to which Barton automatically responds.

The tunnel is illuminated suddenly as energy bursts out of his suit and the super close contact to the robots added with the high power seems to have a much stronger effect on them than it had initially. They recoil, the closest exploding and crashing into others, until it's like a domino effect, but Stark doesn't stay to watch. He blasts away one robo-feline still in the way with his now-sporadically-blasting hand thrusters and quickly reaches Barton. The archer shoots him a disbelieving look – which is, to be honest, unexpected because he just saved the guy's life and where's the thanks and gratitude, and let's not forget the awe because if that wasn't badass, he doesn't know _what_ is.

"You couldn't have done that earlier?" Barton asks, free hand gesturing at the failing robots around them – some of whom have now shot lasers at _each other_ in the confusion.

Tony rolls his eyes, which is all but lost on the archer thanks to the faceplate. "No, I really couldn't have. Now, come _on_, before the unharmed ones gain some sense."

Clint shakes his head, glances back at the chaos and follows, thankfully free of the threatening red dots. Tony marches ahead confidently, careful to keep his _still_ spluttering thrusters away from the both of them, and they spend the next hour or so navigating through the tunnels until an exit is found.

They make it out relatively untouched, save for Clint's arm and Tony's suit and a couple of scratches here and there. Now that they aren't either trapped underground or facing the looming threats of robo-werecats, Clint doesn't feel the urge to bash his partner's head into a rock wall and Tony doesn't go out of his way to annoy the living daylights out of him with unbearable sass.

Mostly, anyway.

(Romanoff's and Rogers' faces when they come to pick them up in their quinjet and find them not only getting along surprisingly well, but with most limbs intact and matching smirks on their faces, only make the two friends laugh harder. After spending over an hour dishing out whatever priceless dirt they _could_ on their teammates – only the things they wouldn't get killed slowly and painfully for talking about, that is – makes the ride home all the more hilarious for the two of them, and puzzling for Steve and Natasha.)

A couple of days later, Tony manages to somehow sneak Natasha a drink she despises beyond belief. Needless to say, she is terrifyingly livid. His claim that it was an innocent test to see if Clint's re-enactment of her reaction to the drink That One Time was accurate does not go down well.

While he swings up to perch in the rafters and watch Tony try to save his life, Clint realises that he'd forgotten all about the list he'd gathered down in the tunnels. He adds this one to the list too, because That One Time is _not_ supposed to be spoken of and now Natasha's going to murder him too after she's done disposing of the billionaire's body.

He doesn't really find himself caring much. It was fun while it lasted.

(He's still getting Stark back for all that shit, though. Really, he is. And if Natasha kills them both, then he'll just spend all of his ghost life torturing ghost Stark for it.)

**XX**

So Tony _might_ not mind his team that much after all.

Even if he does have to run for his life now.

It _was_ amusing, though, no one can argue that.

(He's so blaming this on Barton because really, it's _his_ fault, this time. And Natasha better kill him for it too. The bastard.)

* * *

**A/N:** *super wide grin* YEAH. FIRST AVENGERS FIC, BABY. HELL-TO-THE-FREAKING-YEAH. *throws confetti and balloons and shit*

I DID IT. *smirks over at xx**Dodo*** WHAT NOW.

So. Yeah. xD Kinda feeling hyper now but I have nothing to ramble about considering everything just went this beauty of a fic which I am rather proud of as my first venture into the Avengers fanfic world. :'D The fics there are just awesomeness so I strive to be like them one day... If I decide to write more Avengers stuff, that is. Which I might. But Avengers are all that is awesome in the universe. And Tony freaking Stark. And Clint Barton. And just. Yeah.

*waves hand* Soo... review, please? Tell me if you liked it, and all that jazz. I make a point to reply properly to all reviews cuz reviews are the bestest things EVER and make all happy and bubbly and high. :P

-needs to sleep cuz mid school week and late night and just asdhjf-

Laters, peoples~ ;)

Izzy.


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